


The Dawning of a New Era

by BlueEyedArcher



Series: Outlast One-Shots [38]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Amulet of Mara, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Dawnguard, Dawnguard Eddie, M/M, Skyrim AU, Thief Miles, Thief Waylon, Thieves Guild, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:06:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13190721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Waylon Park, member of the esteemed (somewhat) Thieve's Guild is given a contract to retrieve a rare and powerful amulet from a rural village outside of Morthal. Simple enough right? In and out job. What the thief wasn't prepared for was the village is in ruins and all the occupants are dead. Monsters lurk in the shadows and all hope seems lost. This may be the end of the thief or a dawning of a new life on the darker side.





	The Dawning of a New Era

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring Thief Miles and Dawnguard Eddie: Based on a skyrim au prompt I made. Each of the characters has a role all their own. If this does well, I may continue on with the next parts. 
> 
> Some of the roles consisted of:
> 
> Chris Walker - Companions/Werewolf  
> Jeremy Blaire - Owner of Silver Blood Mine  
> Richard Trager - Dark Brotherhood Assassin
> 
> And many more.

“Hey Way Way!” The voice piped up as the blonde thief entered The Ragged Flagon, spying a messy haired brunette in the signature leathers of the guild. A myriad of buckles and fixtures for lock picks in the front and pouch attachments on their belts for storing septims and filched jewels. Each member had their own outfit, the girls favored ones without sleeves with shorter cut to the bodice while many of the men wore those that covered their bodies completely. Much darker coloring that allows them to slip into shadows. Some were deep chocolate leathers or green hues, some were solid black. It depended on their choosing. Miles was a deep chocolate, much like his hair, his hood was pulled off while Waylon’s was more of a mossy green. His hood was still up as he just finished with a job. Pushing it back off of his head, his blonde locks were somewhat sweaty and he had dirt smudges on the side of his face. Miles handed him a Flagon of ale and kicked the chair across from him so it would slide out for his good old friend. “You look like shit. What happened?”

 

Waylon held off answering until he was two or three good gulps into his ale. Breathing a deep sigh as he leaned back, shaking his head. “That Whiterun job was fucked from the start Miles. Nocturnal is not on my side today.” He groaned, running his fingers through his hair and grumbling when he found a twig stuck in it. He flicked it aside before continuing. “I got frisked up by the guard's right at the gates. Some asshole trying to get money off of refugees fleeing the war and entering Whiterun. Then the guy I'm stealing from gets flat out drunk and hands me the necklace I was contracted to take. He passed out in the back of the tavern. Then some wannabe upstart thief in Ivarstead tried to swipe my amulet off my neck when I spent the night at the Vilemyr Inn. The boy got one hell of a beating-”

 

“When are you going to take that damn thing off? Seriously Way. That amulet has been nothing but trouble for you.” Miles interrupted, pointing at his friend's amulet of Mara. Waylon has been wearing it for as long as he's known him and that was a long time. They were still pups back then, making trouble around Falkreath hold.

 

Ever since he's been wearing it, the amulet has brought him nothing but misery. “I don't think Mara is on your side Way.” The amulet of Mara was a symbol of love. She bridged the gap between the lonely and united kindred souls. Waylon cherished that amulet with hopes of finding his love. Those who were looking for it, wore it. He was ecstatic when he found out the thieves guild was built beneath the Temple of Mara in Riften and he would donate a small sum of his earnings between jobs. Hoping to gain her favor.

 

“Miles, I'm not going to talk about this again. I'm not giving up my amulet. If I have to give up Mara, then you have to drop Talos.” Waylon pointed out flatly.

 

Miles scoffed in disbelief. “I'd be a vessel of Dibella before that happens.” Which meant never. Vessels of Dibella were young virgin girls. Dibella was a goddess for the women. She was their salvation and their strength. Talos was a brave warrior who actually lived once upon a time. He was a man praised and raised up into godhood by mankind. That's what made him a legend and why Miles had a man crush on him.

 

“Waylon! Got another contract for ya!” A dark haired man approached there table, tossing down a folded up document, the seal was broken since his superior already read it to approve it for his subordinates. “Plenty of coin and it's easy. A small farming village not far from Morthal. There's a mine nearby, most of the people are either in the tunnels or the tavern. Should be quick. What do ya say?”

 

Waylon looked over the document, seeing the item was an amulet like his own only it was tailored by a mage, for a mage. It had a strange design on the front, covered in archaic runes. Easy enough to spot and looks expensive as hell. “I say I better get packing. I'll head out first thing tomorrow.”

  
  


 

By the next morning, Waylon was regretting staying up all night drinking with Miles in the cistern. It wasn’t until the sun neared dawn that they both retired to their respective beds. Woken up by the busier hustle and bustle of the other thieves already preparing for their daily work and contracts. He was slow in getting ready, nursing a hangover while he packed his horse outside of Riften at the stables. Miles saw him off, remaining out of sight of the guards as he did so before sneaking back into the city. He was currently hiding out since he jilted one of his recent lovers and they were prepared to send him off to oblivion for being a bed hopper. Unlike all the others he’s fancied, tavern maids and chamber wenches, this one was skilled with a battle ax and used to be a mercenary. So he was more keen on keeping his head where it belongs and decided to let things blow over. Awaiting another contract to come in with more of his expertise in mind.

 

It was a two and a half days ride to Morthal and about halfway through the third day, Waylon was regretting taking the job when the northern chill set in. He had bundled up in layers of furs and his heavy duty cloak to fend off the chill. He bypassed the Stonehills mine and continued a bit further until he reached a small barely noticeable village. Or what’s left of it. He wasn’t really sure if this was the right place as some of the buildings were destroyed by the heavy winter snows and iced over. One of them looked like a fire broke out from the chimney and consumed it right down to the foundation. There was only three buildings left standing but each looked abandoned at best. It was a place that even the bandit groups out this way were avoiding.

 

There was a large feasting hall that had an old broken down tavern sign barely hanging from it’s chain. Squeaking in the wind. Another was a small hut and the last looked like a longhouse. It was built higher up on a slope much like the ones in Morthal so as not to be buried in the snows. From its size and vantage point, he assumed whoever lived there was an overseer of the village. Probably someone who reported to the Jarl in Morthal about what was going on in their little place. He gave the map another look and realized there wasn’t even mention of it anywhere. He couldn’t even find any road signs that told that this place existed. Like a ghost town of sorts. It made Waylon uneasy and his horse sensed it as well. It took all of his might to keep it in line as he tried to urge it further into the town so he could inspect the houses without having to get on foot. He didn’t know what sort of beast might be lurking in the rubble and wasn’t keen on going up against a bear or a frost troll for that matter.

 

After a few more futile tries, he was forced to dismount. He took up his bow in hand, the wood was strong and well managed. The strings recently restrung with fresh ones and his quiver was restocked with good arrows. He had used up all the coin from his last major haul to pay for the work to be done at the forge in Riften. Due to Miles’ urging, he also carried an ebony dagger on him but preferred not to use it. He didn’t intend to get up close and personal with anyone in an altercation and he enjoyed the luck he’s had so far in only using his bow for hunting and scare tactics.

 

The crunching of the snow beneath his boots was the only sound as light snowfall began to drift down from the sky and turn his dark cloaked shoulders white. A shiver ran down his spine with a chilling feeling that wasn’t from the snow. He felt like he was being watched. Like eyes were on him from all over though as he looked around, he didn’t see any signs of people. There wasn’t even tracks in the snow. No human or animal which was even more unusual. There wasn’t even a sign of rabbits moving about. He always saw rabbit tracks around these types of areas. The winters weren’t that harsh yet that it’d send all the hares for the hills and burrows.

 

He started creeping through the village, keeping a low crouch out of habit, looking around and underneath the rubble of the ruins and peering at windows for any signs of firelight. He made his way up to the first house and checked the door. There was no signs of an inhabitant and the locked was bolted firmly shut. He situated his bow on his back, hooking it on his quiver while he knelt down to work the lock. His horse made an abrupt whiny in fear and started scuffing the ground. Waylon’s pale blue orbs snapped up to attention, body twisting to look while he stood upright just as his horse turned and bolted back the way they came. Waylon felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the door behind him creaked open with a sickly whine.

 

He turned just in time to catch a pair of red eyes glowing in the darkness and the scent of something metallic on the air. Hands reached out and grabbed a hold of him with a red haze surrounding their grasp. He hadn’t even had time to draw his dagger before darkness overshadowed his vision and the weapon fell from his fingertips.

  
  
  


“Damn it! Dead! All of them are dead!” A deep voice rumbled out in anger. Gloved fingers gripping his helmet off his head, exposing an undercut of raven locks hanging messily down into his deep blue eyes. The armor Eddie wore covered every single in of his body. The dark brown leather had black patches mixing in seamlessly. Padded with tiles made of iron in the front to dispel direct blows or arrows. Taking a good amount of force in return. Sort of like a turtle shell only easier to move in. Instead of the thick iron padding that encased his broad shoulders like typical heavy armor, he had them formed to free his arms for better rotation and flexibility, allowing him to reach back and withdraw his crossbow with ease. Nothing hindering his range of movement. It still protected just as it should. His gloves weren’t the typical gauntlets one would find at a local smithy. His prey didn’t get close enough or use the same weaponry as a normal attacker so shields and heavy iron molds weren’t necessary to outfit his body. Beneath the thick layers of leather was hide that spanned the rest of his body, protecting his inner arms, sides and even his neck right up to the base of his helmet. A sunburst insignia rested at his throat, the symbol of his organization known as the Dawnguard. A myriad of buckles kept everything fit together and provided lighter support then large bulky clasps. The armor was lighter, more flexible, sturdy and covering than any other kind. Made with one specific opponent in mind. Vampires.

 

Though, sadly enough it would seem Eddie was far too late. He was standing at the mouth of a mine, not far off from Stonehill but running along the same vein of ore. There were half a dozen frozen corpses lying within the shafts of the mine. The freshest one was about a day or so old given the coloring and rate of decay.  A young woman come seeking her missing son who was working the mines. The body of her son was further down. There were letters on the woman’s body from her son stating that something was wrong with a couple of the other miners. They seemed unusual and out of sorts. Their routines were disrupted and they didn’t leave the mines until later in the day, even when they had run out of veins to work, they would linger as if something made them stay. They were more alert and busier when the sun went down and they wouldn’t talk to the others as often. They were even absent during meal times when the others would sit around the fire. They stated that more of the miners were disappearing or acting strange. The last letter was abrupt and confusing, writing the woman to speak to the Jarl of Morthal. To send soldiers to the mines. That he couldn’t leave the camp himself.

 

Those letters and the marks left behind on the bodies were enough evidence for Eddie to go on. He had an idea where his prey was hiding out. There was a small village to the west of Stonehill mine but southeast of Morthal. He set out for the village, expecting to arrive there before nightfall. He needed to get this done and over with before any more innocents are killed by these creatures. He put his helmet back on and returned to his horse and mounted up on his saddle, steering it in the direction he needed to go and clicking his tongue, spurring it into a gallop through the snowy landscape.

  
  


Waylon felt a throbbing pain in his head as he began to stir from his sleep. There was a distant pounding sound that seemed to echo in his head. A groan fell from his lips as his head rolled to the side, resting against his adjacent shoulder. His wrists were chained above his head with his bare feet pressing against the cold stone ground. His pale blue eyes blinked quickly, trying to disband the blurry haze that settled over them. Focusing in on a wooden table a few feet away with a series of large bowls set out and sharp freshly stained tools mixed between. Some of them resembled the ones he’s seen in draugr caverns. Mostly used for embalming purposes. Some he recognized from imperial fortresses, specialized for prisoner interrogations. The rest of the room was bathed in torch light. Giving it a dim dreamlike feeling after the long journey in snow covered fields and hills. The pungent metallic scent was heavy in the air and as he made more sense of his surroundings, he realized some of the large basins and bowls were filled with a crimson fluid.

 

He didn’t notice the figure standing off to the other side of the room, shrouded in shadows and strange dark armor. The figure was a female with long raven hair and red eyes that seemed to bore right into him. Giving him the same feeling of being watched as he experienced earlier. “Hm, finally awake? Good.” The voice was haughty and superior in sound. The kind that nobility usually carried from birth it seemed. He tilted his head forward, tipping it down as his eyes stared down towards his feet. The cold chill had settled on his skin, making him shiver. He wore only a pair of worn hide trousers, the knees were split from wear and tear over the years. His armor was gone and even his amulet. The figure moved swiftly and silently, grasping at his chin and forcing his head back up so his pale eyes met the raven haired creature’s gaze. Those eyes were unnerving, making him avert his gaze only to spot his amulet tucked underneath the female’s armor.

 

“Give that back. It’s not yours.” He grumbled, groggy and cold.

 

“No. You won’t be needing it where you’re going.” The female gave a smug smile at him, flashing long pointed incisors. Waylon paled when he realized why those eyes were so unsettling. He hadn’t encountered a vampire face to face before and he prayed he never would but it seemed his prayers had gone unanswered. The creature stepped back from Waylon’s chained form and eyed him quietly, one hand reaching over to the table, withdrawing a sharp hook like instrument from it and inspecting it for a moment. It was sharp and meant for extracting organs through small incisors such as disembowelment. The vampire’s interests were less extreme and more for the sake of inflicting pain. She dragged the tool down along his chest, scraping at his cold skin before she pressed it against his left pectoral, teasing at the musculature before driving the curved end into flesh and pulling, slipping the hook into the skin and tugging. Blood rose up to the surface as Waylon cried out. He bit down on his lip to quiet his sounds, refusing to give her satisfaction but she refused to let it go. Twisting it around and splitting the flesh open with each sharp pull and jerk.

 

Crimson trails ran down along his flesh before she released the handle of the tool, leaving it hanging there so the weight of it would apply more pain. She picked up another hook and put it through his other pectoral. She repeated the same process as before before letting it hang. Then took up a knife and started trailing it across his body. “Don’t worry. Scream all you want. Nobody will judge you for dying like a stuck pig.” Her words were laced with malice as she stopped her motions, leaving the tip of the blade over his sternum. She made a downward slash, deep enough to break skin but not cause any further harm. She was toying with him. Leaning in to lap at the blood trickling down and enjoying the pain twisting up his features.  Soaking up every last scream that fell from his lips as she cut across his rib cage on both sides, sliced at his hips and across his belly. Each time streaking red across cold pale skin. The vampire would lick up every little bit with a fanged smile that further terrified Waylon.

 

“St-stop this. Pl-please..” His voice was trembling, between the growing cold in his feet and legs, making it harder to feel, and the pain in his chest. She shook her head, licking at the edge of the blade as she straightened up, leaning in nice and close.

 

“I’m not done playing with you yet. I’m going to keep this up for a couple of days. Take you apart piece by piece and drain you of every last drop. Your flesh will feed our hounds and your blood will nourish our coven. You won’t feel the kiss of oblivion until that pretty little heart of yours runs out of blood to pump.” She growled lowly, striking another few cuts across his shoulders, mouthing at the open wounds and trailing her tongue across them. Working her way towards then dip of his shoulder and neck and mouthing along Waylon’s throat. Suckling lightly so bruises were left behind before scraping her fangs over his skin, leaving tracks in their wake. She gave the hooks a few tugs to get his body to jerk and writhe beneath her touch. Sharp claws dragging over his chest, feeling the muscle and flesh ripple, drawing away in the process only for his back to arch away from the cold stone wall and push back into her sharp touch.

 

“Just a little more. I haven’t tried up here yet.” She purred, opening her mouth to press her fangs against his neck. Waylon’s head tipped back away from her advances, feeling a dizziness rushing up over him. He couldn’t keep this up much longer with all the open bleeding wounds on his body. She was about to bite down, breaking flesh when a large bang erupted in the the outside hall. There was screaming and howls. The crackle of magic in the air as fighting continued. Cries for oblivion and explosions that made the walls tremble and the other chains rattle in their fixtures. The bowls of congealed blood rippled like gelatinous blobs.

 

“Damn them-” The vampire cursed when the door was thrown open and a thrall rushed in, covered in blood and missing a hand to which appeared to have been recently chopped off.

 

He had an arrow in his shoulder and was on his last leg as he cried out. “Mistress! Dawnguard!” There was a shadow that stepped into the entryway, a mechanical click as a crossbow bolt exploding through his skull from behind. The tips were made of silver and the crossbow was enhanced for accuracy and power. The figure was dressed head to toe in thick nearly black armor that was plated beneath the leather. It wasn’t like any kind Waylon had seen before. The assailant wore a thick helm that prevented him from seeing any detail of his face. The vampire snarled at the intruder and rushed at him, red energy rising around her hands. Before she could use her magic, the man rushed up on her with the ax, in the close quarters of the room, there wasn’t much room for a fight. He forced her back into the table, spilling the bowls of blood all across the surface as his silver brimmed ax was buried into the meat of her shoulder.

 

He withdrew his hand and punched her across the face repeatedly when she tried to strike out at him. He withdrew the ax and stumbled back, hitting a cage on the ground behind him that was meant to hold prey. She prepared to use her magic once more, hissing in anger before grasping at the table to find a dagger, the same Waylon had been carrying when he was captured. She charged at him but he dove to the side, letting her run into the cage. She whirled around on him, ready to strike when the ax came down over her collarbone. A sickening crack of bone sounded in the room before he pushed her body back onto the top of the cage, pinning her down as her hands raised to try to stop him. Grasping at the arm wielding the ax before he grabbed at them and forced them down, bringing it down one final time to sever her head from her body.

 

As things settled down, Waylon was as white as the snow outside and felt like he was either going to be sick or pass out. Preferably in that order. The man placed his ax back on his belt and picked up his crossbow before approaching the chained male. His armor was splattered in blood, making the nausea ache inside Waylon worse when his gloved hand reached up to cup his chin, lifting it and to the side to inspect his wounds. He rubbed a thumb over the scrape marks across his neck, realizing he had gotten there in time. The armored male reached into his pouch, fiddling around with small vials, clinking together in the deathly silence before withdrawing one that was marked with a sunburst on it. He pulled the stopper and pressed the rim to Waylon’s lips. A deep voice rumbled out from behind the helmet. “Drink. It will stop the process.” The figure was large, barely making it through the doorways when he walked in from height alone. His shoulders were broad enough to almost fill the threshold yet every touch was gentle. The contents of the vial was bitter and made Waylon grimace. It burned going down his raw throat and made his stomach twist up and worsen.

 

Once the whole vial was empty, he let Waylon’s head droop back down. His hand rubbed at the blonde’s neck, giving it a firm rub before squeezing over a pressure point. Dipping Waylon back into darkness.

  


When Waylon returned to his senses, he was inside a hut with a warm fire burning in the hearth. The golden glow of firelight and sconces surrounded the room, leaving not an ounce of shadows for monsters to lurk within. He was lying on a bed, one of two that were placed in the open layout of the hut. The windows were covered in snow, making it hard to see outside but he could tell by the bits of snow piling underneath the door that there was a blizzard roaring outside. The slight draft working its way down into the chimney making the flames dance and flicker. There was a large wooden table cleared of the dishes and items that were normally occupying a dining area. Instead a myriad of weapons and armor lay spread out. Some of which he recognized as his own. His armor and bow were present amidst it all. He didn’t see his dagger though or his amulet.

 

As that thought rose in his mind, he was reminded of the scene he witnessed. The brutality of the ax chopping into flesh and bone. It made his stomach twist up in disgust, causing him to sit up just to quell it. He noticed a weight on his wrists when he moved to cup one over his mouth, looking down he realized the same chains as before were still attached to his wrists only now they were buckled down to the posts of the bed. Making certain he couldn’t leave it without permission. The rest of his body was bandaged up, patches placed over his cuts and open wounds. He winced, a dizziness washing over him in waves as his mind tried to make sense of what was happening just as a deep voice spoke up. “Don’t move just yet.”

 

The tall broad shouldered figure from before was standing beside the mantle of the fireplace only this time most of his armor was gone and resting on the table. Cleaned of all the blood from earlier. His chest was bare and covered in scars, large and small alike. There were fresh wounds on his sides, massive bruising along his rib cage and splotching his back. Bleeding into the chiseled musculature that he’s only seen on Talos’ likeness’. “You were tortured and bitten by a Master vampire.” He informed the smaller blonde, stepping forward, away from the fire. The warm glow catching deep shadows across his features and adding to the majestic depth that mesmerized the smaller thief. He was about average in terms of body stature. Shorter and lithe in frame but strong enough to climb and fast on his feet. All the skill sets and traits a good thief needs as far as physicality goes.

 

“Bi-” He started before a rough cough swelled up in his throat. Dry and hoarse from the abuse. The male walked over to a kettle resting on the edge of the hearth, close enough to stay warm but not to boil. He ladled the contents into a cup and walked over to Waylon, holding it out slowly. His body was tense and on guard when the male took it. The scent was familiar, a soft tea made of herbs. It was most common at the Temple of Kynareth. It held healing properties and tasted of snowberries and honey. It was sweet on the palette. Though this one didn’t have the subtle golden hue of honey mixed in and when he took a sip, the snowberries were bitter on his tongue. He figured as much since honey was hard to get all the way out here. There was nothing to balance out the harshness of the berries. He shivered and forced himself to drink it if only for the warmth and positive properties. It made him miss the temple at Whiterun.

 

“Yes, bitten.” The man said more firmly, rubbing tiredly at his deep blue eyes as if he was running out of patience. “Do you remember how you got there?” He asked after a moment, shifting back to sit on the edge of the adjacent bed. Leaning forward as the flames cast shadows across the wall, making the behemoth of a man look even larger and intimidating. It made Waylon wonder if he was part Orc or something somewhere along the line. But he was all human in appearance. Just crazy big.

 

Waylon rested the cup in his lap, his hands holding it firmly in his grasp as he thought it over. “I had a contract to fullfil.” He stated quietly.

 

“For the thieves guild? I know. I found the order in your belongings.” The deep voice rumbled, a low growl that made him seem wolfish with the shadows around him. It made Waylon’s heart start racing. Like the vampire was the least of his worries.

 

“My belongings? You mean you found my horse?” That contract was tucked into his saddlebag. He hadn’t had a chance to stop his horse from running off before he was taken. “She ran off on me and then those things came out of the hut. Just red eyes staring at me and that was it.” He explained, raising a hand to rub at his neck, feeling the bandages over it. Covering the marks the vampire left behind with her fangs. “I’m not going to...to turn into one of them...am I?” His words wavered, hesitant to know the answer but eager all the same.

 

“That’s what we’re going to find out. I don’t know if I was able to get there in time or not. The process takes anywhere from a couple days to a week or so, so you’re staying with me until I know for certain.” He explained, gesturing towards Waylon’s restraints as he added. “Those are just safety measures. Don’t want you attacking me if you turn.”

 

“Right. If I turn. That’s….understandable.” He rubbed at his neck as the sound of crunching bone echoed in his ears. The smell of blood everywhere. He paled, shaking the thoughts from his head. “I was supposed to find that amulet...do you know where it is?”

 

“It wasn’t there. Whoever sent you that contract either had outdated information or set it all up from the beginning. I believe the latter of the two is more precise. The only amulet I discovered was one of Mara and it was on the vampiress’ neck.”

 

He reached into a pouch attached to the side of his belt and withdrew an item wrapped in thick dark fabric. It had blood stains on it but they were much much older. He unwrapped the item to show the amulet. It’s chain had been destroyed during the skirmish but the amulet itself was still intact. Waylon breathed a small sigh of relief. “That one is mine. She took it from me along with my dagger.” He held his hand out in a small request to have it back. “May I? Please?”

 

The man looked surprised by this, looking from the amulet up to the young man. “You wear an amulet of Mara?” He asked as he handed it over to the male. Waylon nodded, giving a sheepish smile of appreciation to have his precious amulet returned to him. He rubbed his fingers over the intricate blossoming design with the aquamarine stone in the center. The silver craft work was beautiful though covered in scrapes and nicks from years of being worn. Through all kinds of battles. It no longer had the decorative pieces that lined both sides, having broken off it’s original chain long ago. It had been fixed and placed on another several times after that and now the process would be repeated. He made up his mind, as soon as he returned to Riften, he would have it fixed.

 

“It’s sort of a family heirloom to be honest. It’s been passed on for generations. Mara was said to smile her fortune upon us but since I’ve inherited it, it’s brought nothing but misfortune. I think Mara is finished smiling upon me.” He sighed and pressed it against his chest anyway. He couldn’t bare to part with it. It was important to him. Not just because it was an heirloom but also because he wanted to start a family. To fall in love with somebody. He prayed for Mara to guide him there but he’s been on his own for so long. Miles’ didn’t really count due to his reputation. Waylon pledged that when the time comes and he finds the right one, that he’d leave the guild and make an honest living. With that pledge, he had a feeling between Mara and Nocturnal, he was on the losing end. Both goddess’ didn’t seem to have him in their favor. “You never told me your name.” Waylon spoke again after a moment’s silence.

 

“It’s Eddie.” The man greeted him more properly. “Eddie Gluskin of the Dawnguard.”

 

“Thank you for saving my life Eddie. My name is Waylon Park of the Thieves Guild.” He gave the man a soft smile. Taking in the dark raven locks falling down into his blue orbs. Admiring the warmth that settled in them, rendering his rather intimidating appearance to be lessened.

**Author's Note:**

> To Be Continued......?
> 
> If you like it, please leave a comment below to let me know. I may continue the story where i left off if you guys wish for it. And I can bring in the other characters as well.


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